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Woman's Love Letters

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<h2>Doubt.</h2> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> I do not know if all the fault be mine, Or why I may not think of thee and be At peace with mine own heart. Unceasingly Grim doubts beset me, bygone words of thine Take subtle meaning, and I cannot rest Till all my fears and follies are confessed. </div> <div class="stanza"> Perhaps the wild wind's questioning has brought My heart its melancholy, for, alone In the night stillness, I can hear him moan In sobbing gusts, as though he vainly sought Some bygone bliss. Against the dripping pane In storm-blown torrents beats the driving rain. [Pg 10]</div> <div class="stanza"> Nay I will tell thee all, I will not hide One thought from thee, and if I do thee wrong So much the more must I be brave and strong To show my fault. And if thou then shouldst chide I will accept reproof most willingly So it but bringeth peace to thee and me. </div> <div class="stanza"> I dread thy past. Phantoms of other days Pursue my vision. There are other hands Which thou hast held, perchance some slender bands That draw thee still to other woodland ways Than those which we have known, some blissful hours I do not share, of love, and June, and flowers. </div> <div class="stanza"> I dread her most, that woman whom thou knewest Those years ago,—I cannot bear to think That she can say: "My lover praised the pink [Pg 11] Of palm, or ear," "The violets were bluest In that dear copse," and dream of some fair day When thou didst while her summer hours away. </div> <div class="stanza"> I dread them too, those light loves and desires That lie in the dim shadow of the years; I fain would cheat myself of all my fears And, as a child watching warm winter fires, Dream not of yesterday's black embers, nor To-morrow's ashes that may strew the floor. </div> <div class="stanza"> I did not dream of this while thou wert near, But now the thought that haunts me day by day Is that the things I love, the tender way Of mastery, the kisses that are dear As Heaven's best gifts, to other lips and arms Owe half their blessedness and all their charms. [Pg 12]</div> <div class="stanza"> Tell me that I am wrong, O! Man of men, Surely it is not hard to comfort me, Laugh at my fears with dear persistency, Nay, if thou must, lie to me! There, again, I hear the rain, and the wind's wailing cry Stirs with wild life the night's monotony. [Pg 13]</div> </div> <hr style="width: 35%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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